I'd like to claim I spent my youthful Saturday evenings huddled in terror behind the family sofa as ghastly monsters pursued Doctor Who and his plucky girl assistants.

Sadly I was already a hardened teenager of 13 and therefore too old when the first black-and-white episode was shown. I was captivated nevertheless and was one of the gabbling proselytisers who helped create the show's worth-of-mouth popularity.

Four decades later, I cannot now remember why Doctor Who held me in its thrall for the next 10 years. It was fun and imaginative, I suppose, and of course we lads could oggle Leela, Jo and other Doctor Who lovelies.

But science fiction is now mainstream entertainment. Stargate, Millennium, and The X-Files have extremely high production values. You can't get away with polystyrene monsters trundling through old quarries any more.

Bringing back the old boy was therefore a courageous move and I'm pleased to say it was also an inspired one, a triumph of tight writing, wit, good editing and some smashing acting. Watching with my nine-year-old daughter Olivia added an extra pleasure, of course.

Things have changed since 1963 when everyone in Doctor Who was Home Counties and white. The Doctor (William Hartnell) was a grumpy old man, with a mimsy obedient grand-daughter whose strange antics attracted the attention of two very proper teachers from her school. They paid a visit and ended up being whisked through time and space. Next stop the Stone Age and then the Daleks. Served them right, too.

In 2005 all that remains of the old Doctor is his police box (strangely unadorned by graffiti), the weird whooshing noise it makes when heading into hyperspace, and the theme music. The Doctor (Christopher Eccleston) is now a craggily good-looking bit of trouser with a fine line in leather jackets and a pronounced northern accent. ('Lots of planets have a north,' he snarls to a complaint about his speech.)

His assistant Rose (Billie Piper) lives on a housing estate, has flunked her A-levels, is stuck with a dodgy, compensation-seeking mum, possesses a fine estuary accent and has a black boyfriend. The fact that the latter is subsequently eaten by a wheelie-bin - only to survive and then be dumped by Rose - merely adds spice to the proceedings.

However, it's not the contemporary values that make the show. It is its clever imitation of US hits such as Buffy and Angel : a mixture of smart, ironic humour and creepy horror. 'That won't last,' says the Doctor, peering at a couple posing for the pages of Heat . 'He's gay and she's an alien.' And Rose has some equally sassy gags. Told that an Evil Intelligence is going to bring all the world's plastic to life, she gasps: 'What, even breast implants?'

Thus the adult half of the audience is - on the evidence of the first episode - well-catered for. It remains to be seen what younger, thrill-seeking TV-watchers will make of it. Last night's episode was primarily concerned with establishing character and had few special effects.

Trailers suggest some fairly strong production values for future Saturdays, so I would have thought the BBC - thanks mainly to producer Russell T Davies who also penned last night's episode - is on to a winner. I for one will be watching.